


Something from Nothing

by SiderealV



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderealV/pseuds/SiderealV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Overlord and the events on Luna 1, Swerve reflects on the state of the crew and wishes things were as they used to be... but maybe something good can come of things after all.</p>
<p>Tumblr prompt fill. This is the last pairing I would have considered writing and now I have cavities from the sweetness. Intended as pure fluff but accidentally angsted all over it. Critique is welcomed and highly encouraged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something from Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mellorine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorine/gifts).



Long day. Super long day. Swerve toweled off the cube in hand, lights dimmed overhead as a staticky recording played over the bar’s speakers. It was the type of twanging, melancholy tune that called to mind backwater outposts and simpler times. Common opinion was that the barkeep always played this kinda scrap at last call to clear out the stragglers. While it did have the added benefit of sending any loitering unfortunates groaning for the door, the truth was Swerve just liked country.

The minibot hummed as the music droned on, stacking the dried cube and picking up the next. There were no last-minute stragglers tonight. Overlord had been bad for business. _Luna 1_ had been bad for business. Bar business, quest business… every business. It’d been a deca-cycle since the pit had opened up on them, and in the wake of disaster and victory alike, engex had flowed freely; no one wanted to think. Frag, even if they did, there wasn’t enough Rung to go around. That suited him just fine. More work meant less time to fill with his own thoughts.

Yes, the bar was bustling, but business was no good. The air was stale, and the chatter subdued. Laughter—when it came—seemed forced. Familiar faces, important faces, were glaringly absent. Worst of all, Swerve couldn’t count how many times he’d pretended not to notice some poor sobbing bot being hauled back to his habsuite by concerned friends. Mechs drank hard to forget, and slunk home to pass out before the high grade wore off. It had been a deca-cycle since they’d buried their friends, and tonight would have been the first movie night since it happened. Long, long day.

His visor flickered as he checked his internal chronometer, and Swerve sighed with tired relief. Almost over now, just a few kliks and he could go home and get slag-faced. Being knocked into stasis sounded pretty good right now. In fact, he might as well just lock up now. Yeah, why not? He padded to the door, collecting an errant cube on his way. Besides, what kind of fragger would show up five kliks before closing time and expect to be served?

"…"

Oh right, the entire crew with maybe four exceptions. He walked a little faster. Just as he reached to finger the lock shut, the doors opened. Oh, come on, reall— oh.

Skids stood blinking in the threshold, the yellow lit hallway a stark contrast to the low lighting of the bar. Finding the diminutive barkeep directly in his path, he grinned down lopsidedly.

"Still open?" He trod in without waiting for an answer, and Swerve’s protest died on his lips as the other trailed his servo deliberately over the minibot’s shoulder as he passed. Not like he could have kicked the mech out anyway… not Skids. His friend had fared worse than him in the attack of the legislators, and his frame still bore the marks of the battle; the alloy grafted over his near-fatal stab wound was a grim reminder of how close it had been. Still, the marks did little to detract from the his companion’s looks. He rubbed a servo over suddenly heated faceplates, giving an exaggerated groan as he thumbed the lock shut in the theoretician’s wake.

"You’re killin’ me, pal," he plodded back to his post as Skids sank into one of the bar stools. "Seriously, five kliks before closing? You’re lucky I like you." 

Skids watched in amusement as his friend settled back behind the bar, already gathering the components for his usual drink. “Sorry. Forgot you were closing.”

Swerve stopped mid pour, squinting at the other behind his visor. Did he seriously just pull the amnesia card? The barely repressed grin twitching at the other’s faceplates made the corners of his own mouth turn up, and he laughed, really genuinely laughed, for what felt like the first time in vorns.

"You AFT!" He hurled his washrag at the cheeky fragger, who laughed along with him even as he narrowly avoided a wet smack in the face. He shook his head, smiling still as he resumed mixing. "Primus, where were you before when we could have used some laughs? Instead you come slinking in for a drink when the party’s already fizzed out," he chided good-naturedly. Skids hadn’t been around much since everything went down. It was good to see him, late or not. Really good. The moments of silence stretched between them, music droning on lazily in the background.

"I didn’t come for a drink, actually. I came to see you."

Quiet words were spoken with such sincerity that Swerve actually paused again, looking at the other with disbelief. The larger mech’s smile was still there, more tired than before, but also more sincere. Managing to shake off the surprise, he gave a nervous laugh. “No kidding?”

"Been trying to keep out of your kibble. You’ve been working double shifts since, well…"

"Since everything went all…?" Swerve trailed off, passing the finished cocktail over.

"Yeah." The larger mech accepted it, looking down at the swirling pink and silver high grade as he tipped his cube. Gold optics flickered back up to regard the other, tone somber. "Things could’ve turned out a lot differently with the legislators and—"

"But they didn’t," Swerve countered, too quickly, as if needing to remind himself. Skids held up a hand, acknowledging his protest, and continued.

"—and there’s a lot of things I’ve been thinking about. Things that I would have regretted not getting to say, or… or do, if it had come to that." He was staring resolutely into his cube now, tone softening. "You know… ‘us’ things." He looked up into the other’s visor sheepishy.

It wasn’t often the minibot was rendered speechless, servos gripping the edge of the bar. “W-we’re an ‘us’?”

Skids laughed again, helm dipping in embarrassment before he scratched an audial and smiled earnestly. “Swerve… can I buy you a drink?”

He laughed. It felt good to laugh. The speakers kicked on a more upbeat tune, and Swerve smiled. Things were a long way from okay; they would be that way for a long time. But for the first time in just as long, they were starting to look up.


End file.
